


Forsaken

by Red_In_Every_Sense_Of_The_Word



Category: Devil May Cry
Genre: Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, I love Trish man, Just an idea I had in my head about Trish's creation, My First Work in This Fandom, Other, Religious Imagery, Trish and Dante are besties who are good for eachover don't @ me, Trish laments on her past and looks to the future, creation horror, gross transformation tw, no beta we die like men, trauma tw
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-26
Updated: 2020-11-26
Packaged: 2021-03-09 23:42:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,547
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27724319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Red_In_Every_Sense_Of_The_Word/pseuds/Red_In_Every_Sense_Of_The_Word
Summary: Have you ever wondered if you've been forsaken by God?Or alternatively: Trish looks back on her past, her origin and creation, and then laments on how much she's truly gained.
Relationships: Dante & Trish (Devil May Cry)
Kudos: 7





	Forsaken

**Author's Note:**

> So this is my first attempt at a DMC fic! I've drawn a shitload of DMC shit (posted all to Tumblr under more or less the same username as here) and if you couldn't tell I absolutely love Trish! So here's an offering to attest to the strength I find in this character, as well as exploring a theory in how exactly she was created.
> 
> Note: I haven't finished dmc1 yet and I've not really seen anything besides the games, anime and what I've seen online, so if any details are off please let me know!!

Have you ever wondered about whether you've been forsaken by those above you? Like God, or any other supreme deity in charge of the life you've been gifted. Would you, if you could stop and think, wonder what it would be like to be forsaken by God?

Sometimes she thought, little she prayed, for she already knew she had been abandoned the moment she was ripped away from her home, from her family, and mutilated.

Her existence was twisted beyond recognition, broken down and ripped apart, reattached and repurposed into something… blasphemous. Heresy at the highest level committed, as she was drained by her humanity day after day. First the mind, then the body, then the spirit and soul were all crushed and replaced with… nothing. She was made an emotionless puppet, an amalgamation of something that used to be human, but could no longer hold that title. Not when their being held such horror, such disgusting features and capabilities. 

She was a monster, a demon. 

It was actually one of the hardest ways to create a demon. Take a human, strip them of their humanity and leave them in the Underworld for them to mutate beyond being recognised as human. Give them orders and watch them wreak havoc until they're cut down. Too much planning and work for such a short existence. But, this time was different.

This one was different. One of the hardest ways but with a twist. Usually, the human would mutate and be mutilated with their entire body, organs and all. This made for a simple humanoid demon, with the same fragiality as, say, a Bianco Angelo. However, this case was different. Mundus wanted something better. 

So instead of having her entire humanity taken from her, they instead experimented with her. It was excruciating, torture like no other, just being ripped apart and reassembled, still human to an extent, still starkly aware. 

They looked, between her ribs and under her intestines, around the curve of her liver and under the surface of her flayed skin, for the key to strength, the key to prevailing.

Prevailing in Mundus' War, the one he wages against those already damned. The fight filled with fire, and ash. Blood-soaked clothes and acid-filled tears. Defilled innocence and unanswered prayers. God, the unanswered prayers.

She knew a lot about unanswered prayers. She would pray every desolate night that she would be fine, that she would get out. She prayed even when the only answers back were whispers of denial and mockery from the demonic presences around. Eventually, as her skin cracked and rewrapped itself around her, and her jaw unhinged and snapped off to rework it's place, she stopped praying.

Instead, she started obeying. It was easy to give in, easy to choose survival over keeping her humanity, easy to accept the image in the broken shards of glass was really her. She let them crush her spirit, let them crush her soul, and then, she let them rip out her heart. She didn't pray, she didn't scream. She just… accepted it. She always accepted it. 

Her heart was stored, still beating and still human. Then they got to work, sorting the misplaced limbs and organs, reorganising the demonic form to look more humanoid, more agile and effective for battle. Then, they got to work on the human look. Her hair was altered and changed to a different natural hair colour and type, eyes changed to a oceanic blue, and skin made paler, and more doll-like. 

Finally, they completed the process, reattaching the heart to the body and making sure it worked. Their theory was that if human blood was the source of demons energy, then maybe using a human blood system powered by a human heart, inside a demon would produce the perfect demon warrior. 

Their theory was correct.

When she awoke, she yet again didn't recognise herself. But she looked… human. But she knew she was not. She looked nothing like she used to, now her hair was a long and fine blonde, her eyes lighter but more dead. Her figure was more athletic and she could still feel the invisible stitching that held her Frankenstein existence together. She felt nothing, her emotions long since removed. 

She had been a success to create, but had a long way to go in order to serve her purpose. They put her to work. 

She couldn't remember how old she was when she was taken in the first place. She was a child, she knew that much. A little girl lost in her worst nightmares, left behind by everyone she ever knew, and anything that could try and help her. 

She was young when they first taught her to fight. Hand-to-hand, marksmanship, sword-fighting and devil's arms use. Self-defense and priority of mission over anything else. Anything she'd need to know in the field of battle. 

She was young when she was pitted against her peers, failed versions of her made into cannon fodder to sharpen her skills. Crimson always stained. It didn't matter if you were wearing white or red itself, it always showed. It stained skin too, not in a visible way but in a way that it was always there. She had been taught Macbeth as part of her human education, and she could almost relate to the way Lady Macbeth scrubbed and scrubbed until her hands were raw. 

She was late in her teens when she chose her first outfit. It was apart of the initiation into being on the field. She was taught how to imitate human emotion and conversations and was given some personality to feign being one of them. Choosing her outfit was apart of that process.

She settled on black, because it was the only colour that didn't show blood. Neither did leather, and she chose that too. The lightning shape was to make clear her power. Like a warning sign saying "danger, high voltage." Her outfit was convenient but stylised, something that would fit in but at the same time seem "her". As if she actually knew who she was.

In the end all her failed experiment predecessors was slain by her own hand, the cages of the prison she lived in for most of her life were barren, and she was removed from her place in the Underworld by her father.

Father. That's what Mundus was to her. She couldn't remember the man who fathered her when she was human, nor did she receive any of the things one should from a father, from Mundus. She wasn't loved, or raised. Merely tortured and forcefully molded into the perfect soldier of Hell. In hindsight, she never really understood why she even considered him her father. Maybe it's because she owed her "rebirth" as a demon to him. Maybe it's because she was desperate for any sort of connection that didn't end in their blood being spilled, even if her own was spilled in the process. Whatever the reason, that is what she called him. Until she didn't.

She was released into Red Grave City with her single objective, her single reason for being, in mind. 

Bring Dante to Mallet Island. And Kill him.

That was her reason to exist. Someone else's death. How sickened, she would feel, looking back on it. But nonetheless, she did her duty. She had no feelings after all, only her objectives that she lined up in her head like a pretty little robot, ticking them off one by one, almost as if the blood didn't stain and the screams didn't echo.

She found him, eventually, and he was, incredible.

Looking back, Mallet Island was a blur. The guilt made recalling the incident a point of disgust, and on top of that she also didn't remember much because of the point where she sacrificed herself. She did remember the screams though, up until then, she didn't think Dante would be capable of such sadness, let alone mourning someone he had just met. She was honestly touched, on top of being grateful that he had somehow revived her. They never figured that one out honestly.

She had always seen herself a monster, a tyrannical creature amalgamised from all the most terrible things found in the pits of the Underworld. But from then onwards, because of Dante she was able to see herself differently.

She was able to appreciate what she had, feel fully and wholly. She met so many people she could cherish; Lady, Patty, Morrison, Nero, Nico, Kyrie and more. She had a place where she belonged, with friends she found herself loving to the fullest extent that she could. She could grow and repent and right all the wrongs she put out into the world. 

And because of Dante she could learn to live again. 

She doesn't wonder if she's been forsaken by God anymore, because God doesn't matter when your shrine is made up of the different people you know. Because nothing is more holy then loving those you hold dear to the fullest extent of your beating heart. 

Trish didn't pray, because she already had her light, and as long as she was by Dante's side and had a place within her Devil May Cry family, she knew being forgiven by the divine didn't matter.


End file.
